Great Satan!
Where was Kendrick? Mother of God! Where was he? O'Reilly raced back through the house, going from the cellar to the attic and room to room, turning on every switch he could find until the entire estate was a blaze of light. There was no sign of the congressman! Paddy ran out of the house through the attached garage, noting that Evan's Mercedes was gone, the Cadillac empty. He began searching the grounds again, criss-crossing every foot of woods and foliage within the fenced compound. Nothing. There were no signs of struggle, no broken shrubbery, no breaks in the fence or scratches on the newly constructed brick wall. Forensic! The department's forensic division would find evidence… no! He was thinking police procedures and this was beyond the police—far, far beyond! O'Reilly ran back to the white wrought-iron gate, now awash with light, and raced to his car. He leaped inside and, disregarding the radio, yanked the police cellular phone from its recess under the dashboard. He dialled, only at that moment realizing that his face and shirt were drenched with sweat in the cold night air.
'Congressman Kendrick's office.'
'Annie, let me do the talking,' broke in the detective rapidly, softly. 'And don't ask questions—’
'I know that tone of voice, Paddy, so I have to ask one. Is he all right?'
There's no sign of him. His car's gone; he's not here.'
'But others are—’
'No more questions, tiger, but I've got one for you, and by the saints you'd better be able to answer it.'
'What?'
'Who's Evan's contact at the Agency?'
'He deals directly with the unit.'
'No. Someone else. Higher up. There has to be somebody!'
'Wait a minute!' cried Annie, her voice rising. 'Of course, there is. He just doesn't talk about him… a man named Payton. A month or so ago he told me that if this Payton ever called, I was to put him through immediately, and if Evan wasn't here I was to find him.'
'You're sure he's with the CIA?'
'Yes, yes I am,' said Mrs. O'Reilly thoughtfully. 'One morning he called me from Colorado saying he needed this Payton's number and where I could find it in his desk—in the bottom drawer of his desk under a cheque book. It was a Langley exchange.'
'Would it be there now?'
'I'll look. Hold on.' The wait of no more than twenty seconds was nearly unbearable for the detective, made worse by the sight of the large brightly lit house beyond the open gate. It was both an invitation and a target. 'Paddy?'
'Yes!'
'I've got it.'
'Give it to me. Quickly!' She did so, and O'Reilly issued an order that was not to be disobeyed. 'Stay in the office until I call you or pick you up. Understood?'
'Is there a reason?'
'Let's say I don't know how far up, or down, or sideways, this kind of thing reaches, and I happen to like beef stew.'
'Oh, my God,' whispered Annie.
O'Reilly did not hear his wife; he had disconnected the line and within seconds was dialling the number Annie had given him. After eight agonizing rings a woman's voice came over the phone. 'Central Intelligence Agency, Mr. Payton's office.'
'Are you his secretary?'
'No, sir, this is the reception desk. Mr. Payton has gone for the day.'
'Listen to me, please,' said the Washington detective with absolute control. 'It's urgent that I reach Mr. Payton immediately. Whatever the regulations, they can be broken, can you understand me, girl? It's an emergency.'
'Please identify yourself, sir.'
'Hell's fire, I don't want to, but I will. I'm Lieutenant
